


Surrender it All

by poisontaster



Series: Sex Pollen [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Corsetry, Dom/sub, Inexperience, M/M, Miscommunication, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-01
Updated: 2007-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion piece to Like a Flag to the Floor.  Sam is having issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender it All

It's not even a _no_ , really.

Just an uncomfortable scrunch of Dean's face and a half-step backwards. Just a quiet, _I'll look stupid_ , and, _I'll look like a girl_. Dean's cock doesn't even flag. But Sam feels his breath go out of him. He feels panic wing up from his stomach, terrible and sour.

_Oh, God. Oh, **God**. What are you **doing** , Sam?_

It's like a camera pulls back for a long shot and he sees himself—sees _them_. Him with the corset in his hand, asking—ordering—his brother, his _big brother_ , to wear it, and Dean, with that horrible look of dilemma. _Wondering what he should do, to make Sam happy._

Sam can't talk. The sweat on his upper lip has changed from the salt musk of sex to fear-bitterness. Sam licks it away and rolls up the corset into a very small bundle before putting it back in the bag. His fingers are shaking.

 _We shouldn't be doing this,_ he thinks, disgusted with himself in a way he hasn't felt since LeChard's mutated flowers sent them on this trajectory. _Look at him. He doesn't want this. He's just afraid I'll leave._

It's an ugly thought and a terrifying one; that the only reason that Dean has sex with him, the only reason he lets Sam _do_ these sick, perverted things to him is out of fear.

He's aware of Dean looking at him; he turns away and goes to the closet, shoving the bag deep within his bag. Jesus, he should burn it.

But he doesn't.

***

After that, he's too afraid to touch Dean. Like _that_ , anyway.

Dean put the bracelet back on, crawls into bed with him every night, but Sam doesn't know what it means. When Dean looks at him with that weird, lost light in his eyes, Sam knows that it's fear but he doesn't know what Dean's afraid of, other than the obvious: _Don't leave_.

Sam sleeps restlessly and dreams of that horrible day right after LeChard's pollen wore off. Of waking up with Dean, naked and sticky, bruised and aching. In the dream, though, Dean rolls over and looks at Sam with dead, burnt eyes and says viciously: _You hurt me. You raped me._

_No. No, Dean, no._

_I'm sorry._

Over and over again: _you raped me._

He wakes up sometime near dawn with his stomach lurching and boiling. He stumbles to the bathroom and turns on the shower to cover the noise of puking.

After his shower, Dean's gone. His panic is short-lived; all Dean's stuff is still there, the Impala is parked outside. But for those first few moments, his hands are shaking and he's that close to vomiting again.

 _This is so fucked up,_ he thinks. _So unbelievably fucked up._

Dean brings back coffee with all the extras and then stands there. Right there. Sam can see Dean from the corner of his eye. Smell him, sharp from the outside air and still kind of sweaty-sweet from their bed.

Their bed, Jesus.

Dean's just looking at him, like he's waiting for something. Like he's braced for the worst.

Sam sighs. "I'm not mad," he says, because he's not sure Dean knows that. "Dean—" He starts, but Dean nods and turns and goes into the bathroom, gearing up for another day. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't know if Dean hears him.

Sam presses the palm of his hand to his half-hard dick and wills it soft, limp.

 _No,_ he thinks. _Not until you know. Not until Dean gives you a sign._

He looks at the closed door, listens to the water run. Tries not to picture Dean under the spray.

_Give me a sign, Dean._

***

It shouldn't be this hard. ( _Oh, God, don't think 'hard'_ )

Right? It's just sex. It's just _sex_. People live without sex all the time, right?

Right??

He remembers this from right after Jess died. He and Dean… Jesus, they've been having sex, sweet God, have they. He's used to it. He _craves_ it. He's waking up either hard or wet like he's fifteen all over again. Except now, he's waking up with Dean _right there_ curled into the curve of his body, smelling like sleep and sweat and sex and Dean. The urge to push Dean over onto his belly and fuck him wide is intoxicating, overwhelming.

He is Jack's perpetual hard-on. He is Jack's sick fuck.

Dean says nothing. Dean does nothing. Sam doesn't know what he'd say, even if he could figure out a way to bring it up.

Sam hopes that's not a sign of anything at all.

***

Dean's in the shower. Sweet God.

They spent two hours smashed up together, locked in a closet by a playful poltergeist. Two hours of Dean pressed against Sam's cock, his hair almost in Sam's mouth and nothing but the scent of the two of them to fill up the spaces between. Sam thought he was going to fucking lose his mind.

So it's about thirty seconds after Dean closes the door that he's dialing over to the porn and his cock leaps up into his hand like its spring loaded.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

He doesn't even really need the porn. Just the feel of skin against his dick's damn near got him creaming himself. Except that's not quite true. Because as good as it feels, as much as he wants to hurry up and do this before Dean finishes up, as much as it feels like the least little thing will set him off, he can't quite make it. Can't quite get that extra bit and come.

 _Please,_ he thinks. _Please, please._

But he can't.

The door opens and Dean comes out and stares at him. Sam feels himself blush from toes to crown, feeling Dean's eyes sweep his nude body, linger on his stiff, aching cock. And it's better, you know? Dean looking at him makes it better.

So much better.

He feels his cock lengthen and heat, spurting pre-come like a damned fountain. Dean's standing there in the bathroom doorway, naked except for a pair of boxers that are on their last legs anyway and his mouth is open just a little bit, pink and expectant and oh, Jesus, but Sam wants Dean's lips wrapped around him. He wants to touch those perpetually perky nipples and twist and tweak them until Dean's face transforms into that blissful _oh_.

Sam wants. He wants like air, he wants like burning.

Dean comes to the side of the bed and Sam's heart and cock lurch at the same time. _Oh, God. Oh, yes, Dean, please…_

But Dean only kneels at the bedside and looks up at him, waiting, pliant, without gesture. Nothing to say, _yes, I want this._ Nothing to say, _yes, I want you._

Fuck. And he's close. He's _so close_ ; it would be so simple to take Dean's hand and put it on him, to take Dean's mouth and guide it on.

_You raped me._

Sam doesn't think he could pry his hand off his dick at this point, but he forces his eyes open wide, looks straight at his brother and says, tight and strangled, "No, Dean."

It hurts. It hurts to say it, hurts to watch Dean's face crumple and fall, hurts to watch him walk away, into the bathroom.

His orgasm boils up out of him vicious and bitter and it doesn't feel satisfying at all.

***

"I'll do it. I'll wear the corset, Sam. Whatever. Whatever you want."

Whatever _you_ want.

He wants to take those words at face value so much. To just say, _Okay, Dean_ , and take him back to the motel and fuck him and fuck him and fuck him until they'll both be feeling it into the next week.

Sam comes back to himself and finds his fingers fondling—molesting—the leather of Dean's bracelet. _His_ bracelet.

_Mine._

_But is he mine by choice?_

"Not good enough," Sam says, willing Dean to understand. "Not nearly good enough."

 _What do you want, Dean? Why does this have to be so hard? Just fucking_ tell _me!_

***

The funny thing is? Even though he's been running hot like the Little Engine that Could for _days_ , when it happens, he's not expecting it at all.

When he opens up the motel door and sees Dean.

Dean.

He sees Dean.

Like _that._

In…in the…in the…

Jesus, the _corset._

Dean. Dean in the corset.

Dean, kneeling on the mattress, spread and shiny and _naked_ except for the smooth dusty-purple corset, cinching him tight.

Sam hears voices out in the motel courtyard. Jealousy pierces him like lightning. _Someone might see him, my Dean._

_My Dean._

Sam steps through the door, closes it too hard behind him. It slams and he sees Dean shiver at the sound, watches it run through Dean's body—mostly naked body—like current. Sam breathes, but it doesn't feel like the air is reaching his lungs.

Dean knows he's there; his back arches, thrusting his hips and ass out in invitation.

 _Oh, God,_ Sam thinks. _Oh, God, Dean. Please…_

"Dean?" His voice shakes. He's so lust crazed at this point, he thinks he might be hallucinating. "What is this?"

Dean rises on his knees. Sam watches the interplay of muscle underneath all that smooth, beautiful freckled skin. Dean fumbles with the bracelet, unsnaps it and holds it out. "Take it." Dean's eyes look so huge in his face. "Please."

"Are you sure?"

_Do you know what you're asking? Do you understand what this means?_

"Yes. Yes, Sam. Yes."

***

"Dean," Sam says, running his fingers down Dean's spine and feeling goosebumps rise.

Dean mutters sleepily, his face pressed into Sam's skin. His bracelet still lies on the nightstand. Sam offered it to him once and Dean refused it, content to lie pressed to Sam's body and let Sam's hands roam where they want.

"Dean," Sam says, more firmly and gives Dean's ass a smack. Dean gasps and grinds against Sam's thigh.

"Yes." Dean's face is drowsy, struggling against sleep and Sam feels a momentary guilt but he'll let Dean rest soon enough. "Yes, Sam, yes."

"No," Sam says, understanding that Dean thinks he wants to fuck again. God, like he could even get it up after that. Sam smoothes the mark he made in Dean's skin and Dean pushes back against the touch. "No, not that. Not yet," he amends quickly, feeling Dean start to tense. "You wore me out, man." He lets his pride, his pleasure warm his voice, show in his touch as he caresses Dean's body and pushes his guilt down deep where it hurts no one but himself.

Dean's eyes close as he abandons himself to Sam's touch; when Sam's thumb slips across his mouth, he opens his lips to take it in, tongue caressing the tip.

"Dean," Sam says again. "What do you want?"

Dean's eyes open; he takes Sam's thumb deep into his mouth and then slides back like he's sucking cock. Despite himself, Sam feels it tighten in his groin. "You," Dean says quietly.

"No… I mean…" Sam fumbles with what he _does_ mean. "What if I stay? What if you don’t have to worry about me leaving, or abandoning you? What if you didn't have to fuck me?"

Dean's eyebrows pull together, his eyes glitter. "Was it bad? I'll get the corset right next time…"

"No, you were… Jesus, Dean, I can hardly move. It's not about the corset. You don't have to ever wear the corset again, if you don't want…"

"But I liked it."

"I'm just saying…" Sam stops, looks at his brother. "You liked it?"

Dean's face colors, his freckles fade into it. "It wasn't bad. And…and how you looked at me."

Sam shifts, cradles Dean between his legs. "You liked that?"

Dean's skin gets redder, like sunburn. "Do we have to talk about it?" Dean whispers, reaching down to cup Sam's cock, stroke against his balls. "Do we have to talk? Just…just fuck me, Sam. I'll be good." Dean lowers his head to tongue Sam's nipples, nip. "I'll be so good."

"Yes, Dean, we have to talk."

Dean sighs. It sounds more like Dean—regular Dean, his annoying, obnoxious big brother Dean—and that makes Sam feel a little better. He puts his hand over Dean's, stops Dean from toying with him. Seriously, Sam says, "I need to know, Dean."

"Need to know what?" Dean asks. "Need to know how open my ass is for you? How slick?"

It's Sam's turn to sigh. "I need to know that…that this is your decision. That we do this, you let me fuck you because _you_ like it."

"I would've thought me coming all over myself was a pretty good clue," Dean answers.

"I'm serious, Dean."

"I'm serious too. Jesus, Sam, do you think this is easy for me? To say, yes, Sam, please, could you make me your bitch because boy, oh, boy, there's nothing I like better?" Dean sits up. When his butt touches the mattress he winces. Still, he sounds plaintive, more like that _other_ Dean when he says, "I thought we settled this. I thought…I thought I was yours now."

 _Shit. Shit._ "You are," Sam says and reaches for Dean. He lets his fingers rove over Dean's face, his neck, his shoulders. Dean's nipples are peaked and hard and Sam scrapes over him with his thumbs, wanting to bite. "Always. Long as you want."

Dean turns his face into Sam's neck. It's so…vulnerable; baring his throat. "I want," Dean says, muffled.

"Okay." Sam closes his eyes. "Okay."


End file.
